Overcooked Spaghetti
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Ally has been many things to Austin. Friend, girlfriend, wife, and mother of his child. Auslly.
1. Chapter 1

**Overcooked Spaghetti, an Austin & Ally oneshot**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Austin & Ally or Rugrats. This one is in response to Pottergirl1 requesting Rugrats and Christmas Cake (Buche de Noel). As always, requests and reviews are always appreciated!**

_That's the fun of it Chuckie. You never know what you're going to get until you get it. -Tommy Pickles_

There's always that moment, right before it happens. That one moment where you start to second guess yourself and think you've gone terribly wrong. He clenches his fist.

They're in the practice room, which is covered in balloons. The balloons are scattered across the floor. He sidesteps one on his way over to her.

"Happy birthday Ally." She's sitting at the piano bench. He's the last to go. He'd like to think that it's because they saved the best for last, but he knows it's because he's been sitting in the background. Sitting, worried that she won't like his gift. "Close your eyes."

"Um, okay." She does as she is told.

"Now hold out your hand," he orders. He doesn't mean for his voice to shake, but she hears the nerves.

It makes her think twice. "Austin, what are you doing?"

"Do you trust me?" She nods her head. "Then hold out your hand."

She tentatively sticks it out. The chain is cold against her palm. Her eyes open.

There sits a guitar pick necklace, adorned with a fat letter A. A for Austin. As in, Austin claims this girl to be his own, forever and always.

"A for Ally?" she asks, holding the necklace up to the light. He takes it from her.

Stepping behind her, he unclasps it. She can't see his face, but Dez and Trish can.

And on it is the biggest look of disappointment they've ever seen.

He strings it around her neck.

"How do I look?" she asks.

"Perfect."

Absolutely perfect.

_Angel, when you don't share, well, it...it won't look good on the application for Harvard. -Charlotte Pickles_

Dez had a problem.

It'd been a month since Hostess closed, and he'd blown through his stash of Ho Hos.

He was hungry. He really wanted a Ho Ho. He really really wanted a Ho Ho.

So when he was picking up some groceries for his mother and he passed what looked like a giant Ho Ho, he neglected all responsibility and bought it.

Now he's in Sonic Boom. He bumps into Austin, whose stomach is rumbling as he waits for Ally to go on break.

"Are you going to eat that entire Yule Log by yourself?" There's only a slice or two left, the majority already eaten.

"It's not a log, it's a giant Ho Ho." He says through a mouthful of cake.

Ally grimaces. "Actually Dez, it's a Buche de Noel. Not a Ho Ho. Hostess closed last month."

She had been so disappointed. Ever since kindergarten she packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder bread for lunch. Now she had to break tradition.

And stepping out of her comfort zone was not her specialty.

Even if it was just bread.

Austin has a fork now, and the two of them are barely taking time to breathe between bites. Her stomach rumbles.

"Can I have a bite?" She has another fifteen minutes until her dad comes in to relieve her, but no customers are around. Surely she has time for one bite.

Austin swallows. "Sorry Ally. There's none left."

Dez is licking the plate. She cannot believe they ate all of it and didn't share.

Well, not all of it.

She stands on the tips of her toes. Reaching up, she swipes the last crumb from Austin's lip. She pops it in her mouth.

"Delicious."

Austin chokes on his cake. That last bite, the one the crumb had escaped from, catches in his throat. He coughs, and his face turns red.

Whether it be from the pain or him blushing is yet to be determined.

He's blaming it on the cake.

_She's in the shower. She says she has to wash away the stench of failure. -Angelica Pickles_

She should not have said yes. She should not have said yes, gone shopping for a new outfit with Trish and showed up at his doorstop that afternoon.

She had been waiting for it forever. And when it finally happened, all she realized was how much of forever she had wasted.

For being such a cute guy, Dallas sure was boring.

She had arrived at his house for lunch. At first, she had been pretty nervous. Her words were mixing up in ways they shouldn't. But soon she found that she could relax.

Having her mouth full of overcooked spaghetti helped keep her quiet.

He had made it himself, and when he had asked how it was, not wanting to hurt his feelings she hummed in reply, mouth full of food.

And then when he had asked if she was enjoying herself, she hummed again. Truth be told, she was writing lyrics in her head. Here she was on the date she had waited forever for. Writing lyrics. For her platonic best friend. While sitting across from her non-platonic crush, eating his overcooked spaghetti.

She was starting to think it might be the opposite.

She faked a phone call. She told him Trish had called, saying it was an emergency. He told her he understood.

How could he understand? She had lied right to his face and he didn't even notice.

Austin can always tell when she lies.

She's in the shower when she hears a knock at the door.

"Trish, I said you didn't have to come over. I'm perfectly fine," she says, scrubbing the shampoo deeper into her scalp.

"That's funny. Because Trish called me, saying how you were definitely not fine and how you were going to take a shower to, how'd she put it? Oh yeah, 'rid yourself of the failure oozing off of you.'" Austin leans against the bathroom door, sliding down to the ground.

She gasps. Here he is, outside her door. And she's in the shower.

Thank goodness he knocked.

"Hold on." She rinses her hair. Shutting the faucet off, she wraps herself in a towel.

He waits patiently as she gets dressed and brushes her hair. She raps her knuckles on her side of the door. Austin moves as the door opens. She slips through the crack, taking a seat next to him.

He wraps his arms around her. Her hair is sopping wet, dripping on him.

He finds he couldn't care less.

"Austin, I'm getting you all wet."

"You're upset." He smooths her hair down.

She concedes and sticks her head in his chest. "I had thought he was the one. The one I'd end up with. But he's just the boring one that looks cute and overcooks spaghetti."

Austin chuckles and she can feel the vibrations under her head.

"You can do so much better than him Ally. You deserve someone who loves you, and makes you laugh, and makes you properly cooked spaghetti." She looks up at him. The look on his face is so serious, and despite the wisecrack about spaghetti, it's one of the sweetest things she's ever heard.

They stay on the floor until he has to leave. He doesn't want to, but his parents call, and they say he needs to get home to finish his math homework.

He does this, and then pulls a pot out of the cupboard.

Austin Moon is learning to cook spaghetti.

_This place gives me the juice bumps. -Chuckie Finster_

It's a chilly day. They're talking in the hallway, and Austin can't help but notice Ally shivering. She's wearing a tank top. The weather man said it was going to be warm today.

The weather man lied.

He sets his books on the bench beside him. He unzips his sweatshirt, taking it off.

"I booked Austin for the Valentine's dance," Trish comments. She expects him to jump for joy. He's normally excited to learn about gigs.

Instead, he's draping his sweatshirt over her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head. "You looked cold."

"Come on Dez. We don't want to be late for lunch. It's Taco Tuesday," she entices him. Anything to get him to finally make a move.

"Taco Tuesday? I love Taco Tuesday!" He runs off, and Trish follows, shaking her head.

Austin looks back to Ally. He takes her books and sets them on the bench with his. He holds out the sleeve.

Her arm slides in. "Thanks."

He slides the other arm in and zips her up.

"Well, you looked cold."

"You already said that."

"Oops." He flips the hood back up, noticing she had taken it down. He kisses the tip of her nose. He flips it back down.

She smiles at him. "We should get to lunch."

He grabs her hand. It's hard to find under the long sleeves.

"In a minute."

He waits until the hall clears out. He knows he's jeopardizing his chance at tacos, but some things are more important. They push aside their books and sit on the bench.

"Ally, would you like to come over for spaghetti tonight?"

'You deserve someone who loves you, and makes you laugh, and makes you properly cooked spaghetti.' His words echo in her head.

"I'd love to."

_I thought you'd like to hear from your fans. -Betty Deville_

When Jimmy asks Austin if he'd like to participate in a private concert for charity, it sounds like a good idea.

It's when he's playing for a dozen teenage girls that he starts to second guess himself. He's used to fans.

These girls take it to the next level.

He blew his nose in a tissue, and they fought over it.

The tissue. Not his nose. Though it wouldn't have surprised him if they fought over that too.

Two marriage proposals and one pair of scissors aimed at his hair. These girls were absolutely insane.

He's glad when it's over. All he wants to do is grab Ally and curl up with her and a stack of pancakes. But he promised Miami Beat he'd do an interview after the concert and he has to wait.

They ask him the usual questions. He tells them about how he's recording for his next album.

It gets down to the final question.

"So Austin, what do you think makes the perfect girl?" The reporter poises her pencil over her notepad.

He leans forward in his chair. "You see that girl over there, in the knit vest and red dress?"

The reporter turns to see Ally standing by the doorway. She waves. The reporter waves back.

"What about her?"

"She's the perfect girl."

The reporter scribbles something down. "Have you told her?"

He grins. "Every day. Doesn't mean she'll believe me."

The reporter looks back at her again.

"What's her name?"

"You can call her Ally. I'll just call her mine."

_'Cause girls are good and boys are bad, naughty babies. -Lil Deville _

There is nothing more boring than first period study hall. All his homework is already done, as his parents wont let him go out before finishing it, and he has to be quiet. Not one peep.

He fishes around in his folder for a piece of paper. He takes out an old math worksheet. He flips it over, writing a note on the back.

Ally's reading a book when the paper football slides onto her desk.

Austin motions her to open it. She does.

'Hi Ally. I love you.'

She looks up at the teacher. He's grading papers, so she writes him back.

'Hi. I love you too.'

She knows she shouldn't pick her book back up. This has been happening since they started their senior year. He's going to write her again, and she won't get to read her book.

It's been sixteen study halls since she started this book, and she's on page five.

'I hear they've made spaghetti for lunch today.'

Still on page five.

She dogears her page.

When they're leaving study hall, she drops the note into her bag. She'll put it with the others when she gets home. They're all together, little triangles, folded and numbered in a shoebox in her room.

"You almost got caught today."

"Psh. The teacher likes me."

They reach his locker. "You're such a bad boy."

"You love it." He has to go right, and her left, so he pulls her in for a quick kiss.

"I know." She slaps his butt and walks away.

Ally Dawson can be a bad girl too.

_It's nice to make new friends, even if you knew them for seventy six years. -Grandpa Lou_

She comes into the room to find him sitting cross-legged atop the piano. His eyes are closed.

Nobody else is in the practice room, but he's speaking. It's unclear as to whom. She starts to back out of the room.

"I want to grow old with you. Even if I lose my hair, and my mind, and I have to fall in love with you all over again. I want to make music. I want to disagree and argue until my throat goes sore. I promise that I will always love you, even if I won't always like you."

Ally creeps in again, being careful not to make any noise. She sits on the piano bench.

It's at that point she sees the box in his hand. He's still talking, but she's too busy studying the box. It's small. It's velvet.

"Ally Dawson, will you marry me?"

It's hers.

"Yes."

His eyes shoot open. There she is, sitting right under him as he practices his proposal.

"You weren't supposed to hear that!" He rubs the back of his neck. "At least, not yet anyway."

The box gets set down. She stands, and he hops off the piano.

"Sorry. Do you want me to go away and come back later when you're ready?" She takes a step closer to him, showing how she'd rather it play out.

He follows her example. "You already said yes."

She kisses him.

_A fishbowl? There's no fish in that thing Lillian.- Phil Deville_

They're making breakfast in their kitchen when she leans over the trash can and hurls. He runs from the stove to hold her hair.

"Ally, are you okay?" She stands. He hands her a napkin to wipe her face. They'd only been home a week since the tour ended, and she was sick. He hoped she hadn't caught anything while on the road.

"I'm fine. Just morning sickness." The eggs are burning. Grabbing the spatula, she turns them.

He takes two plates from the cupboard. "Morning sickness. I thought only pregnant-" His words cut off.

"Only pregnant what?" She piles eggs onto his plate, trying to hide her smile. She fails miserably.

He lifts her in the air and spins her around.

"Congratulations. You're going to be a daddy," she says from her point in the air. He sets her down. "I was going to tell you sooner, but I didn't want to distract you while you were on tour."

He runs his hand along her stomach. It's so exciting. There's a baby in her, and it belongs to him. Well, them.

Then reality hits him.

"Ally, I couldn't even take care of Nemo." He points to the empty fishbowl by the sink.

"Trust me Austin. If the baby gets hungry, it will scream. You will not forget to feed it." She takes a seat at the table.

The toaster pops, and he butters the toast. "I guess you're right."

He places the toast in front of her. She takes a piece and pushes the other away.

"You're going to be a great dad. I promise." She reaches her arms up and wraps them around him.

He's pretty sure she'll make a great parent too.

_It's 4:00 in the morning. Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding? -Didi Pickles_

He's fast asleep, an arm slung across her growing belly.

Or he was, until she pokes him in the side and wakes him up.

"Ally?" he sleepily asks, tugging her closer. "What's wrong?"

"I'm hungry." If any, that was one thing being pregnant had done. With her belly, her appetite had grown, rivaling her husband's.

He releases her and flops on his back. "For?"

He's accustomed to her cravings by now. He's got it down to a science. The cupboard is stocked with jars of pickles. The freezer is full of Fruity Mint Swirl.

"Chocolate pudding." She sits up and pushes the covers away.

"No, you stay here. I'll go get it." He climbs out of bed.

Once in the kitchen, he comes the terrible conclusion that there is no chocolate pudding in the house. There is vanilla, however, and he tracks down half a Hershey bar.

"Maybe if I melt the chocolate, I can just mix it in," he reasons. It's too early for the grocery store to be open. He's going to have to make do.

He sticks the chocolate bar a microwave cup.

Two minutes later, the smell of burnt chocolate wafts down the hallway.

"Austin?" She waddles into the kitchen.

"I can explain." He sets the cup in the sink, filling it with water. She spies the pudding cup and peels back the lid.

She licks it. "There was no chocolate pudding in the house?"

He scrubs at the burnt chocolate. It doesn't budge.

"How'd you know?" She takes the sponge from his hand.

"Call it a hunch."

He hands her a spoon.

He cannot wait for these cravings to end.

_Deed, she's so beautiful. She's...she's a boy? -Stu Pickles_

He's painting the rocking chair in the backyard. He's making the back slats like a piano. The baby's room is almost finished. Music notes painted along the walls, a crib set it the window opposite the changing table, and Dougie the dolphin waiting for his new play friend.

She's sitting on the back step. Her knitting needles are finishing the pink blanket she's making for her daughter.

A needle clanks on the ground.

"Austin?" she cries.

"Yeah?"

"It's time."

He drops his brush and rushes over. "But you're not due for another week."

She leans forward and grabs him by the shirt collar. She yanks him toward her.

"It's time," she repeats.

He springs up, running to the house door.

"I'll go get the keys." He takes out his phone to call Trish.

Three minutes later they're pulling out of the driveway.

Thirteen minutes later he pulls into the parking lot.

Thirty minutes later Trish and Dez show up.

Thirty more minutes later she's telling him how much she hates him.

He knows it's not true.

Because when she delivers the baby, she gleams at him and tells him how much she loves him and their newborn child.

"What are you going to name him?" she's asked.

"Him?" She had been told she was having a girl.

She shares a look with Austin.

"Looks like I'll need to knit another blanket."

_Kids are supposed to smell. It's the way of the world. -Grandpa Boris_

Having a kid isn't easy.

It's tiring, and stinky, and time consuming.

But it's days at the beach, and coming home from recording sessions to the two most beautiful faces on the planet.

He's changed the baby, and they've put him to bed, covering him and Dougie with the blue blanket.

She's snuggled into his side. They're comfortable, if not exhausted.

That's when he hears the cry.

"He has some powerful lungs," he jokes, unwinding himself.

"He takes after his dad." She kisses his cheek and gets up.

They go to his room. He picks the baby out of the crib and rocks him back and forth, singing a lullaby.

She watches. "Told you you'd be a great dad."

There was that moment. That one moment where he thought there was no way she'd like him. That moment where he took the chance anyway, and asked her over for spaghetti. That moment where she said yes, and tugged on the strings of the hoodie she was wearing. His hoodie.

He looks at the bundle of joy in his arms.

How could he have second guessed this, thought it was wrong?

There wasn't anything more right in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Overcooked Spaghetti, an Austin & Ally fiction**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Austin & Ally or Rugrats. I had some leftover quotes from my research, so I've made it a two shot. As always, requests and reviews are greatly appreciated.**

_I got up, but my legs felt like Jello. The red kind, not the green kind with the bananas that I like. -Tommy Pickles_

There is nothing more terrifying than trying to buy a birthday present for the most amazing girl in the world in hopes that she will take the step from best friend to best girlfriend.

Okay, so there probably is, but for the time being, he feels like someone has scared the pants off of him.

He looks down.

Still wearing pants.

That's a good sign.

"May I help you?" The man behind the counter pulls off his glasses and wipes them with a cloth. He places them back on his petite nose.

The two beady eyes blink behind the lenses. They're judging him.

"Um yes. I'm looking for a chain for a necklace."

"How long?" The employee poises his key over the lock on the case.

He should know this. He's had his arms around her so many times. He could measure against the length of his arm, but he's pretty sure this guy isn't too fond of him.

"Well, it's for this girl," he starts. The man raises an eyebrow at him. He figures he might as well give it a shot. "You know the girl who works at Sonic Boom?"

"No." His patience is wearing thin.

A girl walks past the kiosk. Austin points her out. "She's about her size."

The man sighs and opens the case, pulling out a chain.

"This one should do. If not, keep the receipt and exchange it in thirty days." He rings up the purchase.

From there he rushes home. In the bathroom he steals a bottle of his mother's nail polish. He skillfully paints an A on a guitar pick.

A for Austin.

He's stringing it onto the chain when he's called down to dinner. They're having pancakes, and he begins to settle down.

That is until, "Austin, is that blood on your finger?"

"It's nail polish mom."

He really hope Ally likes her present.

_Without you kids, life would be pretty boring, that's for sure. -Grandpa Lou _

There are some things in life that are incredibly painful, each with its own reward.

Booster shots have lollipops. The good grape kind that turn your tongue purple.

Broken hearts have ice cream. Bounties of ice cream that can be eaten without anyone yelling about poor eating habits, because people with broken hearts are depressed and ice cream heals everything.

And homework has Ally. It's incredibly boring, but she's agreed to tutor him, and that makes things a little less boring.

Especially when she bribes him with 'not-dates'. As in, despite-what-Dez-and-Trish-say-about-your-rewards-for-finishing-your-homework-these-are-not-dates.

He wishes Dez and Trish were right.

Today she's promised him she'll go to the arcade with him. Normally she wouldn't, but if it motivates him to get his math homework done, she's more than happy to watch him play a couple of games of Skee ball.

They make their way to the change machine. He inserts a five, and she waits for him, fiddling with her necklace. Upon further inspection he realizes which necklace it is.

Ally has many necklaces. So he wasn't disappointed, or at least not too badly, when she didn't wear the necklace he got her every day.

But on the off-chance he catches her wearing it, like today, it makes him smile inside.

It's been nine months now, and he still hasn't told her that A isn't for Ally.

A is for Austin, and he's going to prove it. He scoops his coins into his pocket.

"Ready for some Skee ball?" He leads her to the machine and deposits a coin, handing her a ball.

"Wait, you want me to play Skee ball?" He takes her hand and guides it back. She sinks the shot.

He picks up a second ball and sinks it again. "Mhm."

It's so intimate that by the time she gets the hang of the game he's reluctant to let her go.

"Go Ally!" he cheers as her tickets are dispensed. His tickets are coming out of the machine next to his.

He cannot believe her stack is taller.

Then again, he can. She is very distracting when playing Skee ball.

They pool their ticket together for a stuffed llama. When she tries to hand it to him, he shakes his head.

"You earned it."

"Thanks Austin."

It's just another not-date.

_My dad says that sometimes, if you fall off a horse, you gotta get back on, and if you get knocked out of the ring, you gotta get back in. -Susie Carmichael _

This year he promises himself that he's going to ask Ally out. More than that, he's going to tell her how he really feels and they are going to last. It's not going to be one of those go on one date and then go back to being friends ordeals. He's in this for the long run.

It's been five days since his resolution, and it's already being broken. And not on his account.

No, it's not his fault.

It's Dallas's, because he's decided to ask her out, and he happens to be the guy of her dreams. Or was. He's not sure anymore. His name hasn't come up in conversation lately.

He's glad the same can't be said about himself.

They're in Sonic Boom, straightening the guitars. Then he hears him.

"Hey Ally, you got a minute?" Austin cringes. First off, it's 'have' a minute. (Yes, all of Ally's tutoring has made him more aware of his grammar, thank you very much.) Second off, he knows that this annoys her more than him and that she most definitely does not have a minute for people named Dallas.

Apparently she's not as aware of this as he is.

"Sure."

Dallas gives Austin a look, but he doesn't take the hint. Anything he wants to say to Ally he can say in front of him. "I was wondering if you were doing anything tomorrow afternoon."

He wants to step forward. He wants to say that they're spending the day together. Not that they had official plans, but they always share their weekends.

She isn't saying anything. On one hand, she wants to seem busy, like she has a social life. But on the other, she's been waiting forever, and she's not going to let the opportunity pass her.

"Weren't we going to work on that song tomorrow afternoon Ally?" He tries not to sound jealous.

"Oh, well maybe another time." Dallas stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Ally makes up her mind. "We can work on it another time, right Austin?"

Those eyes. Those hopeful eyes with that hopeful smile. He really needs to stop falling for them.

"Sure. No problem."

Resolutions are made to be broken.

_Hi, I love you. Can I have a hug? -Goober_

He is freaking out. He has made so much spaghetti in the past month that when he gets home and checks the cupboard, there's only enough for one plate.

And while sharing was cute for Lady and Tramp, his kitchen table is simply too big to put the plate in the center and have them reach for it. They'd have to lay on the table.

If he ever lays her on the table, he can guarantee that it will not be for spaghetti.

He loses time going to the store to buy another box. He's half an hour behind now, and he still needs to take a shower.

The water is boiling on the stove when she shows up. He dumps the strands in, running to answer the door.

"Hey Ally." She's still in his sweatshirt. He kisses her nose like at the lockers.

"Hi," she replies, being tugged into the kitchen.

He walks over to the stove. The noodles are still cooking. He turns back to her. "It should be ready soon."

She smiles and pulls two plates out of the cupboard.

"You don't have to do that. You're the guest." The forks are taken out.

"I don't mind." She sets the table, noticing the unlit candle as the centerpiece. It hadn't been there before.

It's a romantic notion.

She wraps her arms around his waist. He's supposed to be watching the spaghetti, making sure it's perfect. But nothing bad could happen if he turns around to hug her back, right?

Wrong. He was very, very wrong.

He hugs her too long, and the pasta is getting a bit mushy. It's barely noticeable. Except he needed this to be perfect, and it had been every time he had made it, and the one time he needed things to work out, it overcooks.

"Drat," he mutters, spooning it out onto her plate.

"Something wrong?" she asks.

He rests the pot on a trivet. "I wanted things to be perfect, and I overcooked the spaghetti."

She swirls a bit around on her fork. It looks normal to her. She takes a bite, and he studies her expression.

"It's perfect." She wipes her mouth. "And I'm not just saying that because I love you."

Suddenly swallowing got a lot harder.

"I love you too," he says when he finally gets it down.

Maybe he wasn't such a failure after all.

_I'll never fall in love again! At least not until the first grade. -Angelica Pickles_

When she leaves, he falls backwards onto his bed. It's a lot to take in. This morning he was pining for his best friend, and now he can't fall asleep because she told him she loves him.

She told him that she loves him, and that he does not overcook his spaghetti.

And she agreed to be his date to the Valentine's dance.

So pretty much he's on cloud 900 (cloud 9 just isn't high enough to express how he feels) and has to fall asleep so he can wake up for school tomorrow.

The last time he had thought he was in love was sixth grade. There was a girl, Tonya. She was pretty. She was a cheerleader.

He was too young to know what love was. He thought the butterflies in his stomach meant something.

Tonya had a straight blond ponytail. She was tall. She was loud. She was everything Ally isn't.

And that's the problem.

He likes how Ally's curly brown hair is down, begging for him to run his hand through it.

He likes how Ally is short, and how he can envelope her with his body, hiding her from the damage of the world.

He likes how Ally is quiet, but can break out of her shell. How she's afraid to perform, but got on stage and did it anyway (albeit under disguise) because she knew he'd be right by her side.

He likes that she trusts him without any stipulations, and how he can trust her back.

He likes that she isn't Tonya.

He loves that she is Ally.

_Hello there. Just in time for a spot of tea, eh wot? -Spike_

He holds his cup up for her. "Why yes Ally, I would love more tea."

She refills his cup with more iced tea. It's too hot out for regular tea, a stifling 98 degrees.

"What about you Dougie?" she pretends to fill the dolphin's cup.

She looks into Lloyd the llama's cup. It's full.

"It is way too hot out." She pulls he hair back, fanning her neck.

"Agreed." He takes a long drink of his tea. "Dez said it's supposed to get up over 100 this weekend."

They both groan.

There's another two weeks of school to go, and if this heat wave lasts much longer he's going to go insane. The short shorts are getting shorter, Ally's included.

It does not help him focus in class.

Not that there is much left to do. He's a senior, just buying his time like the rest of them, waiting for graduation.

"So you're really okay with not going to college right away?" he asks.

She lets her hair fall. "Yeah. I mean, our careers are skyrocketing. We're a team."

He leans in to kiss her.

"Hey Austin?"

"Hmm?"

"We're being watched."

"Oh, right."

He thinks about it for a minute.

"Boys, close your eyes."

_Well, last I heard, he was still trying to assemble the thing. Stopped eating, stopped sleeping, just spends all his time working on that toy. Looks good though. Lost a lot of weight. -Charles Finster_

Remember when he said he couldn't think of anything more terrifying than asking Ally out?

Yeah. He thought of something.

There is nothing more terrifying than asking the love of your life to marry you.

Especially when that girl is Ally Dawson.

There are so many possibilities, and every one seems to have a flaw.

He could propose to her on stage. Except she has stage fright. And while it's not as severe as it used to be, he'd rather she not freak out when he proposes.

He could propose to her over spaghetti dinner. It would remind her of their first date. Except he guarantees he'd screw it up because he'd be too distracted to make sure the pasta doesn't overcook.

He could just get her alone and tell her how he feels. He could propose to her at the piano bench, where all the greatest things come to fruition. All the songs, their first kiss (on the lips that is), their first kiss that Dez and Trish interrupted (two separate incidents, equally enjoyable). And now it'd be the place that he proposed.

Except things don't go the way he plans. He buys a ring. Every day he goes to the practice room, sits at the piano and practices his speech. He keeps the ring box in his pocket. And when she comes in he's playing the piano, acting like everything is perfectly normal.

It's that one day. That one day where he sits on top of the piano, because Dez said it would help him become one with it, thus calming his nerves. He's so calm he closes his eyes. The words pour out.

And then he hears her voice.

So many hours of planning, and none of the plans put into place.

It's too late to fix it.

But she said yes, so was it ever even broken?

_I say we take his undies next time. -Lil Deville_

Her husband is singing in the shower. She's packing their suitcases for the tour. His is finished, but the zipper is stuck.

She enters the bathroom. The sound of his voice gets louder. His silhouette is dancing, rubbing soap across his body. There is something hypnotizing about it.

So rather than ask him for help, which is what she had originally come in to do, she makes a bold choice.

She swipes his boxers off the floor.

She's halfway through the door when she turns around.

Better take the pants, just to be thorough.

He emerges a few minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist.

"Ally, have you seen my clothes?" He walks over to where she is struggling with the zipper and gives it a yank. It closes.

She grins at him. "They're in the suitcase."

Then what was he supposed to wear tonight? Or tomorrow morning, boarding the tour bus? He was pretty sure Jimmy wouldn't be too happy if he got on pantless.

"I cannot go without pants." He unzips the suitcase.

She sets her hand on top of his and kisses his neck. He reconsiders.

"Well maybe just for tonight."

_Life is so hard Tommy. Sometimes I think it's the hardest thing there is. -Chuckie Finster_

Ally loves being on tour with Austin, but there are some downfalls.

The fans. She cannot believe the nerve of some people. They see the wedding ring and he still gets marriage proposals. They grab for his hair. And it's not just even teenage girls that do it. They were at a truck stop the one afternoon for lunch and a full grown man had picked up his napkin when they left, asking him to autograph it. It was most likely to sell online, but it was creepy nonetheless.

And then there was the paparazzi. Every moment was photographed. Austin was nice enough to take a picture or two before moving on. But there were the ones that didn't quit. Ones that followed them everywhere. Did they really need photos of them holding hands again? Because they already had plenty of those, and frankly, she wanted to hold her husband's hand without having to worry if her hair was frizzing or if there was something in her teeth.

He didn't even have to be around. They'd take pictures of her by herself. She was Ally Moon, songwriter and wife to Austin Moon. And there were some moments she'd rather they not record. Like that rest stop in Arizona, where she bought that pregnancy test.

One of the worst things was the pregnancy. She wasn't sure how far along she was. All she knew was that she was late and the test was positive.

Every night he wrapped his arms around her and she worried that he'd feel the bump. A small one is forming. She holds her breath and hopes he doesn't notice.

"Who's ready to hear the best song ever written?" he asks the audience. They roar. "Well, I may be a bit biased. This one's for you Ally Moon."

She smooths her shirt over her stomach.

As soon as this tour is over, she's going to tell him.

_We got shopping lists, candy wrappers, and what appears to be a moldy bag of fries. -Drew Pickles_

Having dealt with her cravings for a few weeks now, he's noticed a pattern.

Pickles and Fruity Mint Swirl.

"You'll never guess what's on sale this week." He folds the ad over and hands it to her.

She looks down at it. "Fiber bars? Are you trying to tell me something Austin?"

His eyes widen.

"What? No. I was talking about the pickles." He points in the ad.

She nods understandingly. She had been craving them nonstop, and here they were, half the price they usually were.

"We should stock up." She places her hands on the table to stand up.

"I'll go get the keys."

At the store they fill an buggy with jars. Dill and sweet. The shelf is cleared, leaving only the bread and butter pickles.

When they reach the cash register, they get a few odd looks. He's used to being looked at for his fame. But the way that their eyes are judging his wife and her cravings does not please him. He tightens his grip on her. They avert their gazes.

"Find everything you were looking for today?" the clerk asks.

"Yes, thank you," Ally answers as the clerk counts the number of jars in their buggy.

The assistant bags them, trying not to stare at Ally's baby bump.

A flash goes off.

Great.

Three weeks later, he opens a magazine to find their picture, along with a caption. 'Baby Moon craving pickles .'

Is it so much to ask for his unborn child to be given some privacy?

He is not letting them anywhere near her when she goes into labor.

_And we didn't have time to make dinner for you, so here's a piece of cheese. -Charlotte Pickles_

For the first anniversary that the baby is around, Austin and Ally both agree to spend the night at home.

That is, until Trish and Dez showed up on their porch.

"You two need to go out. Leave the babysitting to us," Trish demands, leaning over the crib.

They share a look. "Are you sure?"

Dez claps him on the back. "Of course buddy."

So they hit the road and end up at the local pancake joint.

"I know it's not fancy," Austin apologizes.

"Austin. We've spent the last year eating out and surviving on microwave meals at home. Some simple home cooked goodness is just what we need." She closes her menu.

He stacks his menu on top of her's.

The waitress comes to take their order. When she leaves, he takes her hand under the table. It's discrete. Not that anyone is around to see them. There's no paparazzi, and the only patrons around are a couple of older guys sitting in a corner booth. They're laughing so hard their dentures threaten to fall out.

He thinks they'll be okay.

He spots the necklace hanging from her neck. Except it doesn't look the same as before.

"Your necklace."

She leans forward. He takes the pick between his fingers.

The A is still there, but there's a small number two hovering above it.

"A wasn't for Ally, was it?"

He lets go. "No."

"A was for Austin?" She sits back in her seat.

He nods.

"See that number two?" She points to it.

"Yeah. I was wondering about that." He taps her foot with his.

She taps back. "Two A's. For Austin and Ally."

Best anniversary ever.


End file.
